


Wedding night

by Peasantlock



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Game of Thrones AU, M/M, and thorin is khal drogo, wherein bilbo is danaerys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantlock/pseuds/Peasantlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wedding night between khal drogo and danaerys (book version) bagginshield style</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding night

Bilbo looked out onto the crowd, the feast, and swallowed thickly. His husband sat on his right hand side, still as the statue he had heard rumoured they actually were. The sun was setting fast and he watched it intently from the corner of his eyes, trying not to count the seconds. He had worn his lips to a singeing mess and the scent of smoke and meat made him dizzy. The table had held far too little greens for his tastes, not that he had been able to eat much anyways with the way his stomach was twisting.

  
It seemed but a moment from there and he thought he hadn’t been that distracted when he was jolted by a hand on his. Looking up, squashing a shriek because that would just be undignified, he found the dark ocean blue of his spouse willing him to stand along with his hand, tugging him up to his feet. Dusk had come. When had dusk come how had he not seen the sun set and the light leave? The dark unsettled him, the night was for lighting candles and reading by its fire until sleeping safe underground in their smials. Not for being placed upon a pony and carried further into the darkness of a forest. This was what nightmares were made of, he thought. Nightmares and horror stories for children. Do not venture into the forest at night, or the wolf will take you. The wolf, indeed at this time his husband did look much like the large wolves of the fell winter. Stalking, silent, hairy. And he was about to be _eaten alive_.

  
Finally they stopped at some small glade by a stream, why a stream? Bilbo hated water and he was lifted off his pony by the same steady, large hands he had been placed there with. The eerily warm palms remained on his waist for a beat before the large dwarf turned and led him by his fingers to a patch of smooth grass. The moon rose overhead, a large and round disk shining a perfect blue turning the world into silver.  
His husband, Thorin, sat him down upon a smooth rock and seated himself before him. For a split second he felt like a prince, looking down upon a person like this but it lasted for less than a thought and then the dwarf started picking the gems and fine silver and, that metal was whiter than silver, chain links out of his braids with care, making sure not to undo them. Having finished with that task he looked up at Bilbo expectantly and oh, oh right he had studied for this, he scooted forward and picked up the heavy main braid, undoing it carefully. When he was done he could not help running his fingers through the silken mass just once, to make sure he got all the braids out and also to admire it. No shireling had hair like that. All liquid and soft. No all hair he had touched had been, well maybe soft but always tangled in their curls, stiff like a bush. When Thorin started rumbling in that harsh language of the dwarves he quickly snatched his hands away.

  
The stream bubbled on, a breeze travelled chilly along the glade and cooled Bilbo’s burning cheeks and Thorin set his fingertips upon the fastening of his tunic and undid them. The silk chords whined with the friction and fell apart and with surprisingly gentle fingers he pushed the fabric off his shoulders. It pooled around him and soon other garments followed, joining it. The breeze that had been gentle a moment ago was nipping now and he shuddered just a little bit though he couldn’t tell if it was from actually from the cold or the ghosting touch of fingers slipping the last of his clothes off. He would not shield himself he decided, he would not be the coward and hide when he had gotten this far so he bit down and willed his arms stay at his sides where they were though he wished to snatch his clothes back up and wrap them up again.

  
The sounds of his nervous sniffling filled the air as he waited but after a few twitches that were starting to become unbearably strong he opened his eyes and found he was being stared at, most intently. Thorin had made no move though now, when their eyes met they seemed alight with fire and those eyes roamed the planes of his body, knowing he was watching. _He had not started until he was watching_. His jaw had gone slack at the revelation and everywhere his gaze fell it felt like a touch upon his skin, blazing with warmth. Bilbo was locked like a bunny under the wolf’s eye and the hunger in them certainly was fitting and he was most certainly shaking like one himself. Petrified though it was supposedly his husband, the large dwarf before him who was made of stone. Maybe it was because he could see the residue of fear in his eyes, maybe he just wanted to break the silence but for whatever reason the dwarf king began murmuring in that harsh tongue they call khuzdul. Mumbling as he finally raised his arms to rest palms upon his thin wrists. Bilbo made to pull away, on pure instinct, thinking he would be grabbed and pulled forward but Thorin felt the twitch of action and kept him still by a gentle squeeze. Thumb rubbing the sensitive inside of his wrist he spoke one word Bilbo could understand “no” and continued with the soothing action searching for Bilbo’s darting gaze. “No?” he said, “so you do know some westron then.”

  
His husbands lips may have twitched briefly but through the beard and the weak light it was hard to tell. “No” the dwarf said again and Bilbo huffed, knowing full well that was all he was going to get out of the oaf. The hard stone was making his ass go numb and he could not say he found the fact that his balls were resting on its cold surface very comfortable but it was soon forgotten as Thorin finally moved his hands, dragging them up to the nook of his elbow where it tickled slightly. Up to his shoulders and tracing his clavicles. Then he started drawing with is forefinger. Shapes that resembled letters, starting from the soft dip between shoulder and torso near the armpit curving itself inwards to the centre and then down to his ribs where he splayed his fingers out like twin tongs. The touches continued in a similar fashion all over his body from the top of his hairline, and hair as well, to the tips of his toes. Bypassing the more sensitive areas. Somewhere along the way Thorin brushed the tip of his ear and Bilbo sucked in a harsh breath and whined, following the questing fingers. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he might topple over for he was leaning so very far but then there was the hand with its delicious callouses again, keeping him steady, following the curve of his cartilage around and around and then tugging at the tip. Bilbo was positively burning by now, there was a fire under his skin, in his ears and cheeks, down his throat, in his groin all the way down to his hairy toes. And then the touching just stopped.

  
Chest heaving he opened his eyes, he did not remember closing them but bliss has that effect, and levelled a look at the perpetrator. Emboldened by his own apparent, irritating and absolutely all-consuming arousal he lifted himself off the rock to straddle Thorin’s thighs. Cock standing to full attention he grasped at his hands, laying deceptively limp at his sides, waiting, and guided them to his own ass. Then he met those blown wide blues with a challenging look and a cheeky smirk and said “no?” between heaving breaths. Thorin caught on fast and clenched hard on the large muscles, causing a high pitched gasp and a moan to escape his lips. Then he smiled, a toothy grin, still very much the large wolf and predator and he growled “ _yes_ ” before pressing them together, skin against fabric. Really his husband was scandalously overdressed so he started clawing at the overcoat and coat and tunic and other tunic and third…how many layers was he wearing? It would have been marginally easier had the king not decided to finally start getting him riled up for real which left the undressing for when he wasn’t pressed into his chest, rutting or shaking with a close call to orgasm. A few frustrated noises filled the air along with the gasps, moans and deep groaning but eventually Thorin too was sporting only his skin. Bilbo let out a triumphant shout.

  
The euphoria led to Bilbo sealing his mouth over his husbands lips, which he became aware of doing a split second after the deed but by then the sensation had kicked in and it was so good. He was sure he was leaning his entire weight into that muscular chest but Thorin held firm and did not so much as appear to sway under him. He let out a muffled groan as the hands on his buttocks squeezed again and tongues slid against each other. Bilbo shoved his hand into the jet black, silver streaked hair and tugged with all the force he dared, causing a small hiss that he then stopped by tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. He was grinning like a maniac as he tilted his head to work on the strong jaw and down the wide neck with sloppy suckles and nips, hands still clawing at the scalp. Thorin must've decided he'd had enough because Bilbo felt an iron grip around his thighs as he was hefted down into the grass and given very much the same kind of attention he had just been giving. Though his style was completely different, opting for using broad strokes of tongue and scrapes of teeth. The beard scraping against his skin almost hurt but the licking afterwards was a perfect soother. Bilbo threw his head back with a mewl and started pushing his hips up, grinding. As he pushed up Thorin pushed down and there was the friction he sought. Nails scraping against muscled back he locked his legs as well as he could around narrow hips and breath puffed warm against the spring air, sweat soaked skin slid perfectly in some places and caught in others, he peaked with a short scream tangled like a fisherman's knot around his new husband and lover. Like a cat well fed he slumped down, boneless and content. This marriage business was turning out way better than he'd hoped.


End file.
